


It's That Time of Year

by mind_and_malady



Series: Maybe We're From the Same Star [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Pining, Presents, along with the rest of our typical crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5912488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick has no goddamn idea why Father decided a Christmas party was a good way to kick off winter break, or why Michael is looking at him like he's a disappointment. Truly, he's too busy trying not to do something stupid, like tell Sam how utterly gorgeous he is with all those Christmas lights shining on him, to even give a damn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's That Time of Year

**Author's Note:**

> Sam and Nick are 14/15 ish. Title from The Christmas Song: "It's that time of year, when the world falls in love..."

Father was throwing a Christmas party. Nick didn’t have a single clue as to _why_ , but suddenly his house was full of lights and food and there was a Christmas tree taking up the whole living room and dropping pine needles on the carpet.

What sent the situation from weird to _awful_ was Michael.

He’d stared at Nick like he’d never seen him before, like they’d been separated for years instead of months while Michael was at school. And then he’d smiled - a forced, awkward thing.

Well  _fine_ then. Nick smiles back, bright and cheery and faker than the angel at the top of the tree.

* * *

 

Sam stands at the door in a godawful sweater, something blue with a moose on it, holding a long, thin box. His face is flushed, and the snowflakes in the air have collected in his hair and on his eyelashes.

“Hi,” he says, breathless from the cold. There’s a bright, excited grin on his face that lights up his eyes. The Christmas lights on the porch catch the flecks of blue in his eyes and set them ablaze

Nick feels himself relax a little just looking at Sam, smiling back easily. “Hey.” He steps out of the doorway, and Sam comes in, closing the door behind him. “Where’s everybody else?”

Sam shrugs gracelessly. “They’re coming later. I left early to avoid the war zone.”

Nick wordlessly raises his eyebrows, and Sam laughs. “Dude, it’s _Christmas._ Mom and Dean made like, eight pies.”

Someone laughs, and Sam and Nick turn their attention to Michael, hovering nearby. “Dean still bakes, then?” he asks, and Sam’s expression hardens just a little.

“Yeah, he does. Merry Christmas, Michael.”

Michael picks up on the slight coolness of his tone, and smiles at him. “Merry Christmas to you as well, Sam. Should I take that?” he asks, gesturing to the present in Sam’s hands. Reflexively, Sam’s fingers curl around it a little tighter. Then he hands it over. Michael inspects the tag, and then looks up at Sam curiously. “For me?”

Nick blinks, and turns his head to Sam, who is now smirking. “From Dean,” he says, and then moves past Michael to continue down the hall and into the kitchen. Nick eyes his brother’s dumbstruck face, and then follows Sam.

“What is it?” he asks, curious.

Sam just grins at him. “You’ll see.”

“But I wanna know _now_. More to the point, where is _my_ present, Sam?”

Sam stops walking, which makes Nick bump into him, leaves them so close their noses are touching. “Just be patient. You’ll get it later.” Nick forgets how to breathe, and forces himself not to look at Sam’s mouth, or do something _really_ stupid, like kiss his best friend. Christ.

“Am I interrupting something?” Father asks, and Nick takes a short step away from Sam. They both smile at him, innocent as babes.

“No,” they chorus, and Father laughs.

“Of course not. Where are your parents Sam?”

“On their way,” Sam says, shrugging. “Mom wanted to finish up some last minute baking.”

He nods. “Well, send her and your father to the kitchen when they get here. I’d like some help with this turkey.”

Sam nods. “Sure. They’ll probably be here soon.”

“Wanna go wait outside?” Nick suggests, and Sam shakes his head.

“Nah. It’s freezing out there. Living room.”

They make themselves at home in the living room, fighting for leg room on the couch. Once they settle, Sam turns his eyes to the Christmas tree, seemingly fascinated by the lights in the branches.

Nick watches him. The light plays over his face, turns his skin to warm gold and make his eyes shine. The faint, nearly invisible smattering of freckles on his neck are just visible where they creep down into his sweater. His eyelashes cast short shadows on his cheeks. Nick wants to crawl forward between his legs and bury his face in the side of Sam’s neck, sit with him in lazy contentment while they wait for the rush to start.

Sam looks back over at him and catches him staring, meets his eyes with half a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nick says quickly, trying to shove down the ball of feelings in his throat. “There’s just - uh, some fuzz in your hair.”

“Oh,” Sam blinks, runs his fingers through his hair. “Did I get it?”

Nick smiles, and sits up, puts himself right into Sam’s personal space and plucks a near invisible piece of fuzz from Sam’s hair. “I got it,” he says, and Sam smiles as he moves away again.

“Jesus christ you two,” Meg grouses, making them both jump. “Can you be a little more sappy, please? Just for us girls?” she adds mockingly.

Both boys turn scarlet, and awkwardly start to laugh. “Hi Meg,” Sam says eventually, peering over the back of the couch where he finds Meg sitting next to a silently snickering Ruby and Lilith. “Or, hi to all of you, I guess.”

“Sam!” Dean shouts as he opens the front door without knocking. “Go help Mom with the pies!”

The house devolves into chaos from there. A stream of presents and food come in from outside, crowding the kitchen and the living room. Dinner is a loud affair, all of the adults talking while the teenagers sit on the other half and end up being just _loud_ , mostly thanks to Ruby and Nick. Eventually, there’s a small food fight, pieces of potatoes and pie filling being flung across the table.

Sam and Nick are assigned clean up duty at the sink, as punishment. They spend the whole time laughing, joking, knocking shoulders and hips and flicking water at each other. And then Sam looks up, eyes rolling towards the ceiling from some ridiculous pun, and he says “ _Oh._ ”

“What?” Nick asks, still laughing. Sam doesn’t say anything, so he turns his eyes up. “Oh.”

Mistletoe.

_Goddamn you Michael._

He looks back at Sam, his heart fluttering stupidly in his chest when he sees Sam staring back at him with wide eyes, a faint upwards curl to the corner of his mouth. He smiles back nervously, and the part of his brain that he _hates_ makes a snap decision.

Nick reaches out, curls a hand around the back of Sam’s neck, and kisses him. Sam’s breathing stutters against his lips while he gets over his surprise, but then he smiles against Nick’s mouth and moves with him. Warm hands settle on Nick’s waist, fingers digging in slightly when Nick nips at Sam’s lips. It’s warm and heady and Sam tastes like eggnog. It’s everything Nick’s wanted for years, and he sighs against Sam’s mouth and pulls him closer, fingers threading in his hair.

Neither of them have any idea when Sam’s hands slide into Nick’s back pockets, or when Nick grabbed the edge of Sam’s shirt to pull them as close together as possible, but they’re both hyper-aware of their positions when Lilith starts clapping. They quickly detangle themselves, faces burning.

“That was a nice show,” she drawls lazily, leaning against the door frame. “By all means, keep going. Can I record this for Ruby?”

“No!” Sam half-yells, and then gestures violently up towards the mistletoe. “We were just - It wasn’t - _No._ ” His expression is hideously embarrassed, and despite the twist the expression puts in his stomach, Nick laughs.

“Relax, Sam,” he says, bumping their hips together. “Lilith would never dream of something so scandalous.”

Lilith straightens up a little. “Not with you and little Sammy, of course. Meg and Ruby, though…” she trails off, eyebrows waggling before she bursts into laughter. “Now, c’mon, I was told to bring you in for presents.”

The presents are all rather quaint. Most memorable is Dean’s gift to Michael, the long thin box containing shorter and thinner boxes, then package envelopes, then card envelopes, and finally revealing itself to be a blank, laminated note card. Everyone had burst out laughing, except for Michael, who frowned at the card like there was something confusing on it.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, and Dean had shrugged.

Tradition between them held that Nick and Sam didn’t exchange gifts at Christmas. Or, at least, never publicly. Nick came home with Sam, and followed him up to his room with a square box tucked under his coat.

“So, your gift is sort of, um, already opened? It takes a bit to set up, and I thought it’d be better to just let you see it first,” Sam explains, hands going everywhere as they approached his door. “Just - leave the lights off, okay?”

Nick nods, and steps inside. For a moment, he doesn’t understand, but then Sam comes in and shuts the door, cutting off the hallway light, and then -

“ _Sam_ ,” he breathes, eyes spinning around the room. It’s not completely dark, despite the lack of light and the drawn curtains. A small, dim orb on the floor is projecting starlight onto the walls and ceiling, turning the room into a tiny galaxy. “This is _amazing_.”

Sam smiles, looking down, a pink tint in his cheeks. Nick wants to press him to the floor and kiss the breath from him, and then he bites down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself.

“You’re welcome,” Sam mumbles, scratching at the back of his head. “Floor or bed tonight?”

“Bed,” Nick responds instantly, and Sam nods. It is a nice gift, really, and Nick is already planning how to use these constellations and patterns and the nebula gases in tattoo designs or on canvas. But he’s more excited to give Sam his gift. “Here,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Sam.

Sam takes the box in hand carefully, and slides it off. “Oh,” he says, surprised. The inside of the box is crammed full with dozens and dozens of tiny notes, each painstakingly written out and decorated. Sam frees one note and reads, “ _I’m the luckiest person in the world because I know you._ ”

Nick shrugs. “It’s true. I’d be an awful lot worse without you. Actually, I think that one is in here somewhere…”

“Nick,” Sam says, voice soft. “Thank you.” He’s still staring down at the box, blinking rapidly, his throat working as he swallows.

Warmth lights up Nick's chest, and it doesn’t fade for a long, long time.

He and Sam sit lay close together on the bed, gazing at the projected stars around them. Sam dozes off half-way through the night, and Nick’s attention turns to him. They’re so close together, Nick’s head on his shoulder and Sam’s arm curled around Nick’s back and over his stomach. Nick only has to move his head a fraction to see Sam’s lips part, his eyes moving underneath their lids.

He’s beyond tempted to press a kiss to Sam’s mouth. Just remembering the kiss from earlier makes his own mouth ache, sends a rush through him. Nick ducks his head against Sam’s shoulder and compromises, plants a kiss on Sam’s collarbone through his shirt before burying his face in Sam’s neck. He’ll take what he can get, at this point.

One of his arms snakes across Sam’s chest, and he can hear Sam’s heart beating slow and steady under his ear. “Goodnight, Sam,” he murmurs, and his fingers curl into Sam’s shirt, clinging to him.


End file.
